“Have we aught to apprehend, sir?” demanded the governess, endeavouring to conceal from her charge the nature of her own disquietude.
“I told you, Madam, the ‘Caroline’ would prove an unlucky ship.”
Both females regarded the peculiarly bitter smile with which Wilder made this reply as an evil omen, and Gertrude clung to her companion as to one on whom she had long been accustomed to lean.
“Why do not the mariners of the slaver appear, to assist us—to keep us from coming too nigh?” anxiously exclaimed the latter.
“Why do they not, indeed! but we shall see them, I think, ere long.”
“You speak and look, young man, as if you thought there would be danger in the interview!”
“Keep near to me,” returned Wilder, in tones that were nearly smothered by the manner in which he compressed his lips. “In every event, keep as nigh my person as possible.”
“Haul the spanker-boom to windward,” shouted the pilot; “lower away the boats, and tow the ship’s head round—clear away the stream anchor—aft gib-sheet—board main tack, again.”
The astonished men stood like statues, not knowing whither to turn, some calling to the rest to do this or that, and some as loudly countermanding the order; when an authoritative voice was heard calmly to say,—
“Silence in the ship.”